


History

by CorsetJinx



Series: We never asked to be heroes [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Consensual Possession, Gen, M/M, Mild Smut, Past Abuse, Racism, Sharing a Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: Some people have all the luck when it comes to life. Others don’t. But sometimes there’s good things along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

If you were born in the Brume you knew you were poor. There were plenty of reminders, just in case you ever enough of a dreamer to try and forget it. If the sight of people huddled against each other in the cold on the streets didn’t do it, there were the Temple Knights and their boots.

Or their hands, in frostbitten leather and mail-backed.

He sucked in a breath, tensing as the sting in his cheek persisted. On his tongue he could taste copper but he didn’t think any of his teeth had been knocked loose. Not yet at least. A hand gripped him by the collar too tightly, a heavy breath fogging the air above his head as he was dragged to his feet. Behind the metal face plate that made up a Temple Knight’s helm it could have been anyone, but he knew for certain that the elezen was in no mood to spare a Brume-child any mercy for stealing.

Gloved fingers shoved him forward, sending him almost tumbling into the refuse that lined the street. He shuddered- at the cold, at being touched and his hands balled into fists.

“Not a man enough to try it, are you, brat?” The elezen mocked, a hand falling to the sheathed sword at his side.

He wasn’t given the opportunity to answer as fingers curled, drawing the blade only to send the flat of it to crack him on the temple. His head rang with it, flesh stinging anew where cold steel touched him. He staggered, ending with the sharp corner of an abandoned crate pressing into his hips. In a daze, he clutched at it for balance and willed the world to stop spinning.

Chainmail clinked against itself as the taller man approached, his stride heavy with purpose.He blinked tears from his eyes and pushed himself away from the crate, running as fast as his unsteady legs could manage. Snow from the upper levels floated slowly down, kissing his skin with dots of cold.


	2. Chapter 2

“This was your surprise?” A woman’s voice, her accent not that of the Brume. Her vowels had the arched, educated sharpness of a noble - possibly even Conclave trained.

The man standing over him laughed, just slightly breathless. “There is no need to be so _venomous_. I am the one who caught the _rat_ , after all.” As if to emphasize his point the elezen cuffed him about the ear.

He hissed, hunkering down on himself as he tried to gauge the most likely _escape_ route.

Heels clicked against stone, cloth rustling as she circled. The smell of fine incense clung to her like a shroud, adding another layer to the mental image forming behind his eyes. Perhaps if not for the desire to simply escape, he might have looked up and recognized her.

Women were few in the Holy See, regulated to healers or inquisitors. From the edge of her laughter, he felt willing to guess the latter.

“Aren’t you worried about _catching_ something from it?” She mocked. He jumped when her fingers traced the shell of his ear. Small and round - unmistakably hyur. _Deplorable_ , by highborn elezen standards.

“I _bathe_.” Her guard assured, his tone amused. “The rat thought himself clever in scaling the wall, but he did not manage to dirty anything with his filthy paws.

She laughed at that. The sound was cruel, not an ounce of compassion or warmth to it. With it came the unmistakable ring of steel being drawn.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to educate the child on the _cost_ of his sin.”


	3. Chapter 3

_“A bit different from what I’m used to.”_ Fray mused, wisps of black and red drifting around him. In the blackness where his face should be there was only a pair of eyes, striking in their pale grey color. Whatever he might have looked like in life, it was impossible to say. Only the eyes remained, the rest of him made of dark magic and the armor he’d worn as a dark knight. _“You’re certain you don’t mind?”_

“You want to say goodbye to him.” He answered, turning the soul crystal between his fingers. It glinted where it caught the light, but the warmth emanating from it was his own - not Fray’s. “Even _I_ can understand that. So as long as you don’t kill anyone that doesn’t deserve it… I don’t mind.”

Fray’s eyes curved faintly, as though he were smiling. His arms slowly unfolded, a ghostly hand wrapped in mail covering Dusk’s own, halting his idle toying with the crystal.

_“Perhaps in another life I might have liked you. A pity that this will be the last time we talk like this.”_

Dusk offered him a quirk of his mouth at that. It was only _technically_ the last time. As a part of the darkness dark knights drew upon for power, Fray would always be with him. Just… _faint_.

“Take what you need.” He said instead.

Fray nodded, the coalesced darkness that formed his hand tugging Dusk closer.

He didn’t _taste_ of anything, strictly speaking. Lacking a body - being mostly formed of magic and _raw_ , lingering emotion that the man who’d once been Fray claimed as his own - there was only a sense of pressure and the faintest suggestion of heat against his mouth when the other kissed him.

Even though he felt reasonably certain that Fray had no _intention_ of hurting him, he appreciated the attempt at gentleness.

 

Sid’s face went slack when he saw who it was at the door, black and green eyes going round as dinner plates. Even without his armor he was an intimidating figure - chest, shoulders and head taller than any person in Ishgard. Black scales soaked up what little light there was, cupping his face and branching out into sharp horns.

The part of him that was _Fray_ grew warm with amusement. And fondness, beneath the initial rush.

_“Who were you expecting?”_ He asked in Fray’s voice - low and Brume-born as his own was. Then, _“Open the door you arse. It’s cold.”_

“Are you…” Sid stepped back, holding the door open. He swallowed with effort, still staring. “Are you really - ?”

_“It’s me, Sid.”_ Fray closed the door behind them without a sound, voice softening. _“Sort of. I’ve got his permission to be here.”_

_**Sort of**_ , Dusk couldn’t help but think with a smile.

Fray nudged at him, amused despite the mental barb for that comment. He - _they_ \- stepped forward, cupping Sid’s cheek with something close to tenderness.

_“Don’t wake Rielle.”_ Was all Fray said before hooking their fingers around Sid’s horn and lightly tugging him down for a kiss.

As the center of an au ra’s hearing balance, and delicate besides, when Fray tugged Sid leaned down to meet him.

It was… _different_ with Sid. With Fray being the one pulling the strings of his body. He could feel Sid’s hands on him, but it was slightly dulled. Like being touched through his leathers. It was likely just as disorienting for Sid - the knowing touches to pale, scarred flesh and black scales were undoubtedly Fray but the mouth kissing back belonged to someone else entirely.

Nonetheless it was nice, after a fashion, to tag along with the stir of pleasure Sid’s mouth and claws brought. To _feel him_ and feel what was Fray tremble and shudder in return.

He didn’t know if it was a lapse in control that led to it or not - a moment of awareness that was purely his own. Of _Sid_ , heavy and warm all around him, _inside him_.

Sid noticed too, it seemed, freezing when he tensed around him.

“don’t stop.” He found the spot on the back of Sid’s neck Fray had teased before, rubbing tiny circles against warm skin and tensed muscle. Sid shuddered, a curse stumbling out of his mouth.

He drifted off, after, drained and sated - Fray’s last wisp of thought a weak _thank you_. He didn’t respond, back pressed to Sid’s chest, one of the au ra’s arms thrown over him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sid’s claws barely left any mark when he trailed them over Dusk’s back. Slowly, each one with just enough sharpness to make the fine hairs on the back of his neck lift with the sensation. It feels nice - a bit like having ice water ghost over the skin.

Dimly, Fray’s memories tell him that Sid has torn open men’s throats with his claws alone - blackened fingertips parting flesh like wet paper.

That doesn’t stop it from feeling _nice_ , when the man had a mind to be gentle.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Dusk mumbles into the crook of his arm. It’s the most he’s said since waking up - since confirming that Fray is more or less gone.

Sid’s hand stops. “Do what?” He asks, sounding puzzled. His voice wasn’t as low as Dusk had originally thought it would be. But it’s pleasant to listen to.

“Be that careful.” He smiles, even if Sid can’t see it. “The most I know of you is you being angry, or when you’re going after a target. Focused.”

That’s not entirely true. He’s seen Sid being confronted by Rielle, when the girl-woman calls him out on his recklessness. Seen him fumble when she gives up on being mad to throw her arms around him, relieved that he is alive and well.

“I _know_ how to be careful.” Sid grumbles, swatting at Dusk’s hair. “It’s not like I want to hurt you.” He added with a grumble. Then, hesitantly, “I didn’t hurt you, right?”

Parts of his body are _sore_ , yes. He knows that he probably has bruises somewhere, but that’s far from any deliberate attempt at harming him.

“No.” Dusk lifts himself up onto his elbows, turning to look at Sid with his good eye. The bandages he usually wears to cover up his other one are somewhere, but he doesn’t care enough to look for them. “You didn’t.”

It’s a little endearing, how obviously relieved Sid is when he hears that.

“Good. I mean… I’m glad.”

Dusk feels himself smile. He knows, or at least assumes, that Rielle will be waking up soon. He’s not looking forward to going out into the cold again, but he figures it would be better than overstaying his welcome.

Still, Sid’s as warm as a furnace and he can still feel the drain from the previous evening. Magical exhaustion or something else, it just makes him a little more reluctant to get up and leave. It surprises him when Sid leans down, careful not to jab him with his horns, and kisses the corner of his mouth.

He’s not Fray. There are a _lot_ of differences between him and the sharp-tongued, quick-tempered man who gave his life for Sid and Rielle to escape. But it’s comforting to be kissed and feel like he’s wanted for more than his willingness to swing a sword.


End file.
